


Miraculous Noodles of Healing

by MaruMaruOwl



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Cuddles, Derealization, Dissociation, Feeding, Fluff, Gen, Multiple Endings, Post-Pacifist Route, Stuffing, magical organs, mild brief force-feeding, unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 07:59:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5489582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaruMaruOwl/pseuds/MaruMaruOwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even on the Surface, Sans's inner burdens still keep him up at night. Fortunately, Papyrus has just the solution--and it involves lots and lots of pasta. </p>
<p>Nothing calms Sans's nerves like a belly full of delicious food, after all... Delicious food and his brother's care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This work contains belly stuffing kink content--plenty of it. Though it is not solely kink, the kink is heavily prevalent, so I would not recommend reading if this sort of thing isn't your cup of tea. 
> 
> I have a bad feeling that I'm going to upset people with this fic. I'm sorry--this idea refused to leave my head, especially at the end of my last fic, when Papyrus wishes Sans would stuff himself on his spaghetti. I didn't write this story with the intention of portraying their relationship as incest, but I know it will be interpreted as such. I don't mind if you see it as incest, but it's just entirely non-sexual, cute fluff. It really depends on your sensibilities and experiences whether it feels more like a romantic or a platonic relationship to you. 
> 
> I couldn't decide how I wanted this to end...so I'm leaving it up to you to decide! (You'll see what I mean). 
> 
> Major trigger warning for unreality and dissociative episodes! As a disclaimer, I've never experienced this sort of thing myself, so I can't claim that it's represented accurately. I apologize if this is offensive, and the offense is certainly unintentional. 
> 
> Also, my headcanon is that Sans has a very vague recollection of previous timelines, but can't remember any specifics.
> 
> That's about it! .....I'm sorry for this.

It was going to be one of those nights again. Just another one of those nights. It would pass. No matter what the situation, even in the best possible universe…they would never end. And he would just have to accept that. He’s already accepted it.

In the black stillness of the night, Sans sat at the kitchen table, idly moving his slipper-covered foot bones. He couldn’t sleep. Everyone was peacefully snoozing in the rooms down the hall…but he just couldn’t join them.

Every time he began to drift off, panic shot through his system—the never-ending fear that when he woke up, he’d be back in a snowy, wooden cabin underground. The horrible feeling that everything around him could dissolve in an instant. Even now, he couldn’t be sure that this reality was truly _his_. Despite the hard, solid piece of the table under his finger-bones, it felt about to melt—turning to formless mush between the spaces. Like everything in his sight would blot out of existence—that it already was, and he couldn’t tell for sure.

A horrible feeling bled through the center of Sans’s chest—a cold feeling, like his soul was trying to slide away from him, to enter an unknown spatial plane without the rest of his mind and body. A deep, deep panic and terror, self-contained. It would pass, eventually…he knew it would pass. It always did. But there was no way he’d be able to sleep for a while. So, in the meantime, he’d decided to try to help it along.

On the table before him were a couple of chocolate-chip cookies wrapped in a paper towel. Eating helped, Sans had come to discover. Focusing on the taste in his mouth, the solidity of the food sliding down inside him…it helped him feel more anchored, more firmly tied to this world and this time. On a few really bad nights, this method had led to overeating and stomachaches, but he’d honestly prefer the stomachache to this. Hopefully, it wouldn’t take too much this time.

With a measured sigh, Sans gripped the first cookie, trying to prevent it from dissolving, and slotted it between his teeth. His body slightly shuddered, but…already, he felt a little more present. Humming quietly, he continued munching, each bite bringing him back a little at a time.

Until suddenly, he noticed a muffled thumping from behind him. How long had… And then, all at once, he appeared.

Rubbing one black eye-socket, Papyrus stepped into the kitchen, clad in his “Jogboy” tank top, a pair of drawstring shorts, and floppy, oversized socks.

“Brother? What are you doing awake at this hour?” His tone was soft and whispery—in other words, a moderate volume. He moved to the other side of the table, giving a slightly drowsy glare.

“Pff. I could ask you the exact same thing.” Sans set down the mostly-eaten cookie and grinned up at his taller brother.

Papyrus being awake at this time was normally nothing to be concerned about…but ever since they’d come to the Surface, he’d been actually sleeping through the night. It was either due to the constant and visible day/night cycle, or the fact that he was expending a whole lot more energy running around during the day, helping the others with their goodwill missions, going for drives, and exploring as much land as he could before it got dark. Papyrus’s life was packed with excitement every single day…and sometimes, Sans wished he could feel the same.

Papyrus shook his skull. “Undyne’s infernal noises woke me up. I know it will take me quite a while to sleep again, so I figured I would tour the house!” He smiled, the edge of his mouth curling up. “And what are _you_ doing?”

Sans pushed the final cookie piece into his mouth, speaking through crumbs. “Haven’t you ever heard of a midnight snack?”

Papyrus’s expression drooped. “But it’s 2:14 AM.”

“2:14 AM snack, then.”

The stupid little joke didn’t seem to help. Papyrus gave a skeptical look, raising one socket-brow, questioningly. “Is that really all? Are you really just hungry? I don’t think so…”

Dammit, his brother knew him too well. Sans swallowed down the last of the cookie, and Papyrus’s form began to unsteadily shimmer before his eyes. He forced himself to look away. The edge of the stool began to dissolve, along with his own leg bones. Damn. As much as he really didn’t want to…he was going to have to admit it. It really was bad tonight…maybe even worse than before, now that the threat of starting over carried such a heavier price.

“Yeah…it’s…it’s another one of those…episodes again.” Sans gave a weak, sheepish grin and chanced to look back at Papyrus. He was whole again, thankfully. “But it’s alright… I’ll get it under control in a few…”

A drop of sweat beaded on his skull as he tried to force himself well. He didn’t want to burden his brother with this, especially now. He’d always tried to hide his mental instability in the past, but his brother had inevitably caught him in the midst of one of these nighttime breakdowns, and he’d been forced to explain as best he could. Of course, he would never burden Papyrus with the knowledge of alternate timelines…he would never let him know _everything_. But he’d confessed that he felt “panicked and fearful and disconnected from the world” sometimes…and it was occasionally accompanied by nightmares. Just having that small secret open between them was at least an iota of relief.

Papyrus folded long, bony arms across the table, a softer, forlorn look fading over his face. “I thought that these would end once we achieved our freedom…”

“I…” Sans wrenched his vision to the side again, and he suddenly had to choke back a well of tears. No. This was goddamn pathetic. He should have been stronger than this. He shouldn’t have put a dent in his brother’s happiness like this, make him worry so much about him. But he couldn’t lie—he couldn’t construct a convincing lie. And he didn’t want to lie anymore. It hurt too much…either way, it just hurt too much…

His voice was softer, more steady and emphatic, almost dipping into the range of his “dead serious” voice. “It…will never go away, Pap. It doesn’t end. Ever.”

It was even more painful to see the pinched concern and sorrow in his dear brother’s expression. Why? Why did he always have to do this? Though, the more he thought about it, if he’d even attempted to laugh it off and pretend it was fine, Papyrus would have seen right through him.

“Sans…” Papyrus lifted himself a bit, briefly entwining their bony hands over the tabletop—a reassuring gesture. “It’s alright…I am here. The compassionate Papyrus will take care of you now.”

The sensation of the long finger-bones sliding over his smaller ones was strangely pleasant to Sans. Solid and real and wrapped with unflagging care… Everything began to feel slightly stable again. His eyes briefly shut, trying to feel nothing else.

Until suddenly, Papyrus pulled away, popping back up to full height, an inspired twinkle deep in his eye-sockets. Sans’s sockets popped open as well, curiously looking to him.

“And I know just what to do! I know what can make you all comfy-cozy again…”

“You do?” Sans tried to force the weepiness and the skepticism out of his voice, but unfortunately, a little bit seeped through. If only it could be true…if only this hadn’t happened…

Papyrus’s lanky body turned…and firmly began to rummage through the refrigerator.

“Eheh. You decide to have a 2:20AM snack, too?” Sans attempted to joke away the pain, as usual. But really, if his brother was going to join him for snack-time, that wouldn’t be too bad.

“No, no, no.” Papyrus’s narrow hip-bones shook slightly. “You’ve got it all wrong, as usual. Just relax and hold on.” He bustled about the countertop and rooted through cabinets so quickly and decisively, he was almost a blur. Just barely, Sans could see some sort of large, plastic tub from around his back. Scraping and popping and soft clanging filled in the silence, and soon enough, a punctured beep announced the starting of the counter microwave.

He was _microwaving_ some food? Papyrus really disliked microwaved food…though Sans had really enjoyed discovering what the humans called “TV dinners”. Why on the planet…?

Papyrus whirled around, half-leaning back on the counter and awkwardly crossing his arms. “While I loathe to make use of the heat-blaster box, it is the only way to accomplish this task…” His eyebrows lowered, narrowing his sockets disgustedly.

And then, the beep sounded again. He eagerly slammed the door open and swept the cooked bowl into his hands, unaffected by the heat. And at last, he plonked it down onto the table in front of Sans in triumph. A heaping bowl of warm, steaming spaghetti.

“…Pfheh! Eheheheh…” Despite his mild lightheadedness, Sans couldn’t help bursting into weak, yet genuine laughter. “More spagooter? I shoulda known…”

“Yes, indeedy deed!” Papyrus chirped. “But! This isn’t just your everyday, masterful, Papyrus-grade spagoo—er, spaghetti!” He presented the bowl towards him with a proud flourish. “ _This_ is very, very special, miraculous healing spaghetti, prepared especially for Sans, for use when he is feeling particularly low!”

“Ah--” Sans bent in, subduing another sudden choke. He felt up over his face, just to make sure it was still dry. “Ah, man, bro. You’re gonna make me leak over here.”

“No leaking!” Papyrus commanded. “Eat of it and be mended! I can see that you need it! You are still in need of a two-whatever-AM snack, are you not?”

“Yes…yes, of course…” Sans took a deep breath and slid himself to the table’s edge, accepting the fork and napkin his brother slapped before him. Really, even if the noodles were all gummy and the sauce sour, he didn’t care. The fact that Papyrus cared so much about him… Already, his heart felt lighter. He stuck the fork into the pasta and scooped some of it up into his jaw.

“... _Mmmm_!” Sans couldn’t help but exclaim in surprise. Eagerly, he slurped the noodles down and shoveled another bunch in. “Thish is…rlly rlly good, Papyrish!” he cried, through the hearty mouthful. Sauce splattered into the corners of his mouth as he kept on munching it in. Amazingly, it really was—it was actually delicious, and he didn’t even need to fake how much he liked it. It was just the right amount of softness, the sauce tangy and rich and tinged with something familiar. Thin pieces of melty cheese were interwoven over the top.

Papyrus sat down on the opposite side of the table again, beaming wonderfully. “I am so glad the box did not destroy the taste…as it usually does.”

Sans had to practically force himself to slow down. It was amazing, and every bite felt so warm and comfortable and reassuring as it settled into his magical stomach. Once a good chunk of it had been consumed, Sans felt like he was finally returning for real. Everything around him felt solid and present. He could smell the warm, home-cooked dish before he brought the next forkful to his mouth. This was happening, and this was happening to him now. And that’s when he realized what it was he’d been tasting in the midst of the sauce.

“Eheh…heheheheheh! D-Did you… Did you put _ketchup_ in this spaghetti?”

“Naturally!” Papyrus straightened and gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “It’s especially tailored to your…unusual tastes, after all!”

“Eheheh! Oh, man. You’re amazing.” Sans shoveled another bite in, happily humming.

Meanwhile, Papyrus was practically jittering with his intense pride and incredible joy. Completely ecstatic that his plan had worked...that his brother was feeling so much better already, laughing and reveling in his cooking. “Ah! Ah, you flatter me! You see, the Queen has been giving me additional lessons in her spare time. It turns out her method of education is highly effective! And she helped me with blending the toppings so perfectly, even when I told her it should have ketchup. It’s been wonderful!”

Toriel. Of course. She was the only one who could undo the damage of Undyne’s “lessons”…and she could be kind and patient enough to actually help him learn. Amazing.

Sans’s heart glowed with affection even more. Toriel cared about him, too. This was just as much from her as it was from Papyrus. Their combined concern and care for him had gone into this dish…so, he was going to savor it.

He carried on eating, the soft solidity of the food and its transferred essence gradually filling his magically-created stomach. Everything was…so much more comfortable. Papyrus hadn’t been exaggerating—this truly was special, healing spaghetti. This moment…he was here, he was safe. And it tasted, it felt amazing.

The bowl was beginning to empty now—only about a fourth left. Red flecks smattered over Sans’s round cheekbones, a few more blotting on each time he sucked in another bunch.

Papyrus narrowed his eye-sockets. “You know, you’re supposed to wind it around the fork first…”

“’Stoo good for that.” Sans paused, flashing a genuine, sauce-stained grin. “It’s so good, I wanna _marry_ -nara this sauce!”

Papyrus gave a loud groan and smacked his skull down on the table, while Sans continued munching, a satisfied chuckle in his throat. Though, when he lifted his head again, Papyrus’s eyes contained such soft gladness, they were almost glowing in return. Sans was doing just fine now—laughing from the bottom of his heart and cracking terrible puns. Plenty of that healing spaghetti was tucked cozily inside of him now.

The bowl was almost empty, so Papyrus stood again, silently extracting another plastic tub from the fridge and popping it open against the counter.

“… _Aamph_!” Sans picked up the bowl from the bottom and stuck his whole face inside, catching the very last bits in his teeth. A part of him wished this would never end. If only it could never, ever end…

Sans’s magical, puffy little sack of a belly was feeling nicely full and satiated. The slight tuggy heaviness of the spaghetti’s magical essence inside it gave him a wonderful, calm feeling…and continuing to fill it calmed him even more.

“ _U-Urp_!” He belched as soon as he’d emptied the bowl, and finally conceded to wipe off his heavily sauce-coated face. “Ahhhhh, man. Scuse me. That was fantastic.”

_Beep-beep._ Though he heard the noise, it didn’t register. His eye-socket lids closed, actually feeling a little weighty at last. “You really weren’t kidding, bro. That was some magnificent cooking.”

“I know, I know! …Though I am so, so very glad that you loved it.”

When Sans slid his sockets open again, a small jolt of surprise shot through him.

Papyrus was beaming over at him, his pointy cheekbones glowing pinkish-red…and in his hands was another big bowl—this time elbow macaroni with a bit more cheese and crumbly breaded topping. He sort of cradled it back and forth, merrily, before finally placing it on the table and swiping away the empty, messy spaghetti bowl.

Sans looked down, curiously, at it…then back to his brother, who was joyfully rinsing out the dirty bowl in the sink.

“Whooooaa, amazing!” Sans happily kicked his feet and started to reach towards it. “You learned how to make something other than spaghetti?!”

“Ah, yes, of course!” Papyrus flipped around, quickly blotting his hands dry and slapping several more napkins onto the table beside the macaroni bowl. “The Queen is introducing me to a wide and wondrous world filled with many, many different noodles! She is really helping me to expand my repertoire!”

“Niiiiice. I guess you could say…the pasta-bilities are endless!”

“Sans!! You’ve already said that. Several times.”

“Ehh, whatever… ‘still funny.”

It only took a moment for Sans to decide he wanted it. He definitely wasn’t full enough to quit. And the scent was oh so tantalizing, curling through his nasal cavity. He took up the fork and gave his brother a wide, fascinated look. “You made this for me, too?”

“Of course, of course!” Papyrus softly clapped his hands with excitement, his cheekbones still flushed. “It’ll take more than just spaghetti to heal you completely. And you must be completely healed—so says the Great Papyrus!”

“Man, thanks…” Sans’s heart thumped as he stuck his fork into the macaroni and lifted his first bite to his teeth. “Though, don’t you mean ‘of _second_ course’? Eheh... _mmph_.”

“UGH!” Papyrus flopped down into his chair again and rested his jaw in his hands. “If I could roll my eyes, consider them appropriately rolled.”

Sans felt a warmth in his face, creating his usual bluish blush. The happiness he felt inside him was just overwhelming. It took a certain amount of concentration to prevent a happy tear from slipping out. The macaroni was just as delicious…crunchy and melty and dipped with smooth tomato flavor. Oh, this time, this small piece of existence…was wonderful.

He munched and munched. So yummy…so filling and so comforting… Soft noodles, warm gooey cheese, crumbly coating...more, more… Almost half the bowl had emptied already, and that was when Sans began to feel it, to notice it…

His little magical belly had begun to round out a bit more, puffing up with his significant intake of monster food. He could feel it pushing against his tee-shirt more than usual and starting to slightly stretch the fabric upwards. Looks like his midnight snack was turning into more of a big midnight dinner. And he loved that.

With a secretive smirk, he took in another big bite of macaroni and focused on feeling it converting as it slid down within him, another dollop of solid energy pressing into the mass already gathering in there. Oh…so snug and bolstering and comfy… He only yearned to make that feeling grow even more. Sans just couldn’t help it—he loved overeating, though he usually tried not to do it too often. But as long as his brother was oddly okay with it, then…

Several more eager bites of macaroni followed, and he hiccupped a bit with the influx. Tucking in…more and more and more… At last, the bowl was starting to look emptied, and Sans knew he had to take a short pause.

With a tiny creak, he leaned back in his chair and swiped away some sauce from his face with one of the napkins. “ _Mmmm_ … _hic_!” He couldn’t hold it back any longer…he rested a hand over his round little mound of a belly, which had bulged out even more, though it was still covered with his shirt…for now. And he gave it a gentle, appreciative little rub.

The decision to create this thing had probably been one of the best in his life—it just brought him such wonderful feelings. He lavished it and pampered it and luxuriated in its satisfaction…not just to dull his mental pain, but also because he loved it. With one lazy hand, he patted above the small crease of the artificial bellybutton.

“Do you feel alright, brother?” Papyrus was sort of cocking his skull at him from across the table. It was surprising that he hadn’t spoken for a while, until now.

“Oh, sure. Absolutely. I’m just _swell_ , heh.” Though he normally didn’t care about flaunting his fullness in front of his brother, Sans suddenly felt a little awkward about it, slightly flushing again. This was just kind of _strange_ , and he had figure it out. “Weird, though…you usually start scolding me when I eat like this. Guess it’s different when it’s stuff _you_ made, huh?”

“Eh? Well, yes!” Papyrus readily admitted. His grin seemed all the brighter. “Yes, it is highly unhealthy to overeat in such a manner, but…I would much rather see you eat and be happy than to see you…having one of those…things.” A softer laugh emitted from him—a gentle “heh heh” without the “nyeh”. “And though there is the unhealthiness factor, I know how nice it feels to you, brother. When you jam-pack your silly little stomach thing. It helps you sleep and makes you calm. And that is what I’m after!” His finger-bones tapped against the tabletop in thought. “And besides, what could be better to jam-pack it with than the world’s greatest healing pasta?!”

“Ahaha heheheh! You said it!” Sans gave an emphatic point. His hands spread lightly over his sides, which had started to bulge outwards a little bit, too. It wouldn’t be long before his expansion would be blatantly obvious. Might as well get this over with now and get comfortable…

Sans’s fingers slipped down to the waistband of his shorts, gripping it and sliding it down to his hipbones, letting his stomach curve out freely. Ah, that relieved a little bit of pressure—he hiccupped once more.

And since Papyrus apparently wanted this, too…he pushed himself to the table again and resumed his meal.

The tall skeleton hummed to himself as he sat back and waited for his brother to finish.

Sans’s pace hadn’t even slowed at all—he ate up as if he were still just as hungry. His eating expression was just so blissful…though he was still heedless of the mess he made on his face.

“ _Hlp!_ Presto! All gone!” Sans pulled back when he’d finally polished off the macaroni bowl, slyly wiping himself off and winking. The sensation of cool, open air on him announced that his tummy had begun to poke out of his shirt. A patch of blending blue shades, dully beginning to emanate light. It felt so, so good…

Sans couldn’t help reclining as much as he could and softly kneading fingertips over the top portion of the roundness. Ah, that wonderful _full_ feeling. That wonder- _full_ feeling. His sockets drifted heavily closed, and he privately chuckled. The fabric of his white shirt shifted over the blue-hued dome underneath his ministrations, but that just felt kind of nice, too. A little tickly.

The surface membrane of the magically-crafted little sack was stretched and a little tender. But he could definitely tell that it still had some slack left to it. Not a whole lot…but a bit. What an awesome and unexpected pasta feast. Maybe, he could even…

_Clnk!_ The sudden sound drew Sans’s attention again, yanking him out of his reverie. “Huh?”

Yet another bowl. Just as big as the first two. Topped up with long, thick penne noodles, drenched in creamy, tangy sauce and stuffed on the inside with even more tomato paste.

“P-Papyrus?” Sans’s small, white inner eyes shifted upwards to his brother, questioningly. He was being awfully insistent about this. He hadn’t even waited to see how he felt, for him to tell him if he wanted more…he was already shoving more pasta at him.

With silent dexterity, Papyrus snatched up the empty second bowl and replaced it with even more napkins. “Time for course number three, is it not? I dearly hope this one is to your liking as well!”

“Er, Pap…?” It wasn’t that he was too stuffed—no, not yet—but Sans found himself wondering just how much his brother had made for him, and just how much he was expecting him to eat. A little press of examination on his belly revealed that there was probably enough room in there for this bowl…and _maybe_ a fourth if he really, really pushed himself. But what was he _planning_?

Once he finished rinsing, Papyrus turned and leaned over the table, curiously inspecting him, obviously noting that he hadn’t touched his next course yet. “Is anything the matter, brother? Are you fully packed full already? You don’t appear to be, given your size in comparison to other instances, however…”

“Oh. Well, nah.” Sans gave a firm pat to the bulging upper region, just before it puffed out to the bellybutton indent. “Just hadta take a small break.” No matter what, he didn’t want to disappoint him. But in the midst of his confusion, he couldn’t even think of something to lighten the mood.

Instead, he finally just shifted himself, gripping the edges of his seat for leverage, and curled in again. The bottom bulge of his midsection pressed against his femurs. “Better get ready for more, there, buddy.” Sans could practically feel his belly sloshing slightly as the substances churned around each other.

Then, with a slight yank as his insides, he curled his left finger-bones around his fork and dutifully dived in.

A soft snorting sound came from the indignant Papyrus, who had rested fists on his hipbones. “Don’t talk to your thing as if it isn’t even a part of you. Though…technically, I guess it _isn’t_ a part of you, since it’s certainly not natural. But it’s attached to you, and it _is_ part of you, so… But it’s not something that you _need_ … Nyaaah, I’m confused!”

Sans chuckled around his first bites of the penne—which was rich and delicious, unsurprisingly at this point. “’Salright. Sometimes I even confuse myself.”

“Why must you always be so confounding?!”

“It’s fun.”

Sans focused on the feel of the thick, stuffed noodles sliding between his teeth. The intoxicating taste… Toriel was a miracle if she could coax this kind of quality out of Papyrus. After several bites, his tummy burbled, shifting its contents around and stretching its membrane a tiny bit more. The movement resulted in another burp, which he winked away. “That means ‘compliments to the chef’ in burp-ese.”

Papyrus waved a hand. “Well, I’m flattered. But don’t you dare try to burp the alphabet again! I won’t stand to be subjected to that!”

“Nah, not enough air for it.” Sans used his right finger to poke the rounding edge of his bloated pseudo-organ. Yes. Getting tighter and firmer in there. Very good.

It wasn’t until the bowl was half-empty…and Sans’s blue belly poking out a little bit more…glowing softly, yet steadily…when the peaceful, ponderous silence was broken again.

“Do you think…do you think this is enough to put an end to your episodes?”

Sans had to pause, one long noodle hanging from the edge of his sauce-smeared mouth. Was _that_ what this was about…? With a big gulp, he cleared his throat, the calm light in his white eyes decreasing. “…Pap. This is wonderful, it really is. Nothing can really get them to _end_ …I’m sure it will probably happen again, unfortunately. But you definitely helped me out of this one this time. You’re amazing.”

But Papyrus didn’t look satisfied at all. His jaw was set in a hard, stubborn line, eye-sockets narrow and steady. Sans knew that look. It was the look he only used when he would truly never back down.

“You need more, then.”

Before Sans could try to talk him out of it, Papyrus had bent across the table quick as a flash, jabbed up another forkful of the penne, and thrust it close to his teeth.

He obediently accepted it, slipping it off, into his mouth, then into his stomach. “Uh--” Another had instantly taken its place. “Papy— _mmph_!” When he tried to speak, Papyrus pushed the next forkful into his jaw. Naturally, he wasn’t an expert at it, and the space was really rather small, so a couple of the noodles fell off, splatting onto the table and onto Sans’s chest.

“Mmmm?” Sans mumbled through another mouthful. Now this was shocking. He was _forcing_ it on him? He had to get him to understand that there was no way to “cure” him, especially with pasta. But…

“You’re going to eat,” Papyrus’s voice came out insistent, yet despondent, even as he picked up another bite of penne. “You’re going to eat until it’s gone for good. You’re going to eat until nothing but your happiness remains.”

More pasta was pushed into him. Sans brushed the fallen noodles away as he chewed, and looked up to his brother, a hand resting on his already pasta-filled belly. His expression conveyed his confusion and creeping concern. Another bite.

“I need to do this for you.” Papyrus was…beginning to shiver. “It’s the least I could do. This is the only thing that seems to help you.”

“Ah… _mmp_!” A bit of sauce spilled onto Sans’s shirt as yet another forkful was messily stuffed into his mouth. He was only trying to help, of course…

“Because…b-because…” Papyrus’s arm was visibly shaking now. His thin eyebrows pinched, pressing into his skull, pain squeezing through his heart. “You…you do so much for me, Sans. You’ve always cheered me on and helped me when I was ill, and you read to me and you calm me down, and…”

Sans barely had a chance to swallow before more penne squished through his teeth.

“You bought me the _car_ I always wanted and you taught me to drive it and you made me the outfit of my _dreams_ and you…you always…but…but I can’t…!”

Sans’s eye-sockets cracked open wide, even as his heart ached and too much pasta was jammed into his face. At the very edges of Papyrus’s eye-sockets, light blue drops had formed…glistening and shivering, ready to spill out. They closed for just a second…and suddenly, the tears dropped, sliding down his sharp cheekbones.

“…I CAN’T DO ANYTHING!!!” Papyrus exploded, one hand slamming on the table, the other jamming the fork into his brother’s mouth again. “I CAN’T DO ANYTHING FOR YOU! NO MATTER WHAT I DO! WE’RE ON THE SURFACE NOW—THE _SURFACE_!! IT’S EVERYTHING WE’VE EVER DREAMED OF, AND YET YOU STILL CAN’T BE HAPPY! AND THERE’S JUST NOTHING I CAN DO.”

_Stab, stab, jab, jab, jab!_ Sans winced, as again and again, the fork and its noodles were slammed into his face. There wasn’t enough space for them, and they tumbled out, plopping over his chest, his neck. He was absolutely covered in the mess. And yet he felt like sobbing, too.

“THERE’S NOTHING I CAN DO! NOTHING! NOTHING! _NOTHING!!!_ ”

At last, Papyrus ripped away from his brother. The fork clattered to the tabletop, and he shrank back in on himself, panting, whimpering, crying…

Sans spat most of the noodles back onto the table and swallowed what he could. It just felt like a mushy, gray lump. His own heart felt on the verge of shattering, pulsing with pain. Why? Why did he always hurt his brother? How could he have hurt him like this?! Why did he have to hurt like this?! It was always his fault—always, always his fault, because he just _couldn’t_. He couldn’t change a thing. Because their fate was not theirs to control.

Despite his unwieldly, rotund shape, Sans just laid his head down on the table…and silently sobbed.

“Ah…uh…” Papyrus gripped his shuddering humerus bones and slowly looked up again, tears heedlessly falling. His oval sockets widened to see the disaster he’d caused, to see his precious brother in pain. “S-Sans…” His voice was calmer, but wavering. “Sans, I’m so sorry. Oh, Sans, I’m sorry…”

With a forced sniffle, Sans lifted his head again…though the transparent bluish tears were obvious on his round cheekbones. “I’m…sorry, too, Pap. I really am.”

There was nothing more he could think to say. Nothing more he _could_ say. Because the truth was…there really was nothing. _I’m sorry I can’t be happy for you…_ he mouthed the words, but couldn’t speak them.

Papyrus sniffled as well…and wiped his tears away on his own arm bones. A few gentle, encouraging breaths…and he was coming back down.

Soft tapping accented the silence…as he slowly came around to his brother’s side of the table. Sans carefully looked up a little more, though he remained slumped in place. And then…softly, Papyrus bent down, gently rubbing a cloth over his face, mopping up all the stains.

Sans sighed…and then… Papyrus lifted and bent his face in closer… With the softest, most tender little tap, he nudged his forehead to the top of his brother’s forehead. The skeleton equivalent to an affectionate cheek-kiss.

“Ah…” Sans’s throbbing heart warmed, and his sockets closed, dislodging a few more stray tears. As much as this hurt…as painful as this was…it only proved how much Papyrus really cared for him. How much he loved him, just as much as he did. Sans lifted a bit, uncurling his arms to reach for Papyrus’s shoulder. The taller skeleton knelt a little more, allowing him to fit his arm around it in a hug.

Sans’s heart felt so achy, but so very warm, and it was all clear to him now. Feeling Papyrus’s hand patting softly at his back swelled that feeling even more. “Bro…” He whispered, in his most sincere voice. “Maybe you don’t realize it…but you heal me every single day. You do so much for me, too… I…If it weren’t for you…I wouldn’t even be here now. You save my life…just…just by being here, and by being my brother……. I love you.”

“Sans.” It was gentlest way Papyrus had ever said his name. His gangly arms tightened the hug, holding him pressed firmly for a long moment. Their tears were finally drying, emotions stabilizing. And all that remained was caring love.

Papyrus eventually released, folding back up to his full height. And he was just moving to take his seat again, when a shuffling from the back doorway caught their attention.

Oh no. Someone else was awake.

Sans scrambled, wiping off as much of the mess on his shirt as he could. Sadly, it looked like it would still stain. All the dropped noodles were wadded into a couple of napkins and flicked into the trash with a quick glowing movement of his left hand. And just in time.

“H-Human!” Papyrus piped up, standing before his seat. “What are you doing out of your human bed?” Oh no.

The small, brown head of the silent Frisk appeared at the edge of the room, staring up at them with their usual blank, yet curious expression.

An errant sweat drop made its way down the side of Sans’s forehead, and he shakily tried to pull his shirt down as far as it would go. It managed to stretch all the way over his bulbous tummy, but the puffed-up little balloon was painfully obvious…and he could already feel the shirt slowly creeping its way upwards again. “Uhhhhh, sorry, kid. Did we wake you up? Pap _was_ being kind of loud…”

“I WAS NOT!!” Papyrus shouted at maximum volume.

But Frisk just shook their head and moved to the refrigerator.

Papyrus awkwardly took his seat again, lowering the napkin he still had clutched in one hand. Sans was grateful he at least had the presence of mind to realize something like this might look weird to the child.

Frisk carefully poured themself a glass of milk and came to the table again, a little smile on their face.

“Milk!” Papyrus enthused. “Good choice! The calcium is very good for bones!”

Succinctly, they pulled themself up onto a stool and sat, sipping at the milk and glancing at them. Back and forth…back and forth… Of course. Of course, dammit. Frisk was going to be curious about what was going on. They would silently demand an answer, even if neither brother was forthcoming. And with their determination, they would sit there until they got it.

“You…wanna know what we’re doing up, too, huh?” Sans nervously scratched at where his ear would be, and he blushed to feel his shirt slip up his roundness a bit more.

“Welllllll….” Papyrus began to explain, to Sans’s relief. He could probably phrase it better, anyway. “Sans couldn’t sleep, and he was out here, stuffing his face with midnight snacks, when I awoke and decided something much more nutritious was in order! Nyeh heh heh!” With that, he stabbed up another forkful of penne and held it triumphantly aloft, like a spear of justice.

“Yyyyyup. And it…really seems to be helping.” Sans tucked in a little further and discreetly rubbed at his bloated belly, appeasing its soft gurgles for attention. “I was trying not to bother anyone when I came out here, but nothing gets pasta you, eh, bro?” He winked, sending Papyrus into a patented wordless rage.

Frisk sipped a bit more…and turned their attention to Sans, now. Their eyes were pinching with concern…

“Ah, it’s okay now, though, bud.” Awkwardly, Sans tried not to rest his hands over his belly, though he desperately wanted to. “You don’t have to worry about me or anything…”

But, of course, his words had minimal effect. Frisk firmly set down their half-drained glass and moved in closer.

“Ah, hey…you don’t need to…”

But before Sans could say another word, Frisk was stretching up at his side, nearly bumping into his elbow, spreading their arms wide.

Sans’s blush deepened…and on a panicked whim, he lifted his hand, left eye activating with magic.

“Eheeheehee!!” Frisk squealed as they were lifted into the air, floating up above Sans’s seat, a glowing blue sheen highlighting their form. Their legs kicked a little, enjoying the suspended feeling, yet knowing they were still completely safe. It made Sans’s heart ache slightly to see how much the child really trusted him.

“SANS!” Papyrus cried in exasperation. “You know the Queen does not take kindly to you levitating the human!”

“I know, I know…” Sans gave them his true, grinning eyes. “But it’s sure fun, ain’t it?”

Frisk wiggled slightly again and began to slowly descend as he started to bring them down. The kid’s head swiftly shook, and they stretched their arms further. “Hug!”

Sans froze, keeping the magic steady. Frisk only spoke when they were completely determined about something—when they were really certain, and they needed to do something. He couldn’t. He couldn’t just ignore it or deny it.

“Heh. You really want a hug that badly?” At last, he moved Frisk closer…and though his hand shook a little, he lowered them down…until they were practically sitting on his protruding stomach, curled over him.

With a big, delighted smile, they leaned in and fitted their arms over his shoulders. As much as he still wanted to resist, Sans couldn’t help melting under that smile. Frisk snuggled closer, under his chin, and he pressed a hand to their back, comfortingly. It felt so wonderful…to be so cared for and loved. He couldn’t even feel the pain of their weight on his middle…because his inner soul was so filled with comfort and affection.

“Hey, thanks…” He softly spoke to them. “Between you and Pap, it’s impossible to feel sad anymore.”

Frisk pulled back and looked into his eyes… That gaze…said something more. The simple, steadfast look on their face…that all-knowing stare… It felt like it was telling him “I know what you’re going through. I understand that feeling. I’m worried, too. But we’re together now, and that’s all that matters.”

Silently, Sans closed his eyes…and nodded in understanding.

Frisk carefully slipped off, back to the floor, and sat back on their stool, taking up their milk again. Papyrus chatted with them a while, mostly about their recent exploits, and they finished up, politely depositing the empty glass in the sink.

But even as they said their good-nights (with or without actual words), and Frisk walked back towards their bedroom, Sans couldn’t stop thinking about the encounter. He wasn’t alone…and it was nice to be reminded that someone else knew, someone else could feel similarly.

Unfortunately, it had also reminded him of this world’s impermanence. Tomorrow…Frisk might not feel the same way. Tomorrow, they could decide to keep everyone trapped. They could decide to murder his brother. They could decide to ignore everything entirely. If only their pure heart would last forever…

Sans slumped back in his chair again, now that they were alone. His shirt slid up halfway, and he could see the soft, comforting glow of his overfull belly just under the lip of the hem. And he gave a heavy sigh.

“The human cares just as much.” Papyrus finally addressed him again, leaning in so his ribcage slotted over the table’s edge. “See?”

Small edges of Sans’s vision were beginning to waver again…the walls looking dissolvable, his brother further away. With a short grunt of effort, he heaved himself forward….and delicately took up his fork, lifting a little of the remaining penne into his mouth.

“Ah…you don’t _need_ to finish, if you don’t want!” Papyrus worriedly cut in. A few beads of sweat appeared on his skull. “I-I’m not forcing you anymore!”

“Nah.” Sans gently swallowed…and the tiny spot of warm energy flowing into his heavy, inundated little tank calmed all of his nerves all over again. Something he could truly be sure of. “I _want_ some more… Not exactly full enough just yet.”

“Nyeheh.” Papyrus’s cheekbones were dotting pink again, happily. “Well, in that case, feel free to consume as much as you like!”

Though it had cooled a little bit, the penne was still scrumptious, and Sans slowly, steadily worked his way through the remainder of the bowl. The familiar, soothing sensation of his packed-tight little belly tightening even more, little by little…it joined with the affection of knowing this food was prepared especially for him, by those who loved him. Such an incredible feeling…

At last, Sans scraped the bottom of the bowl, finding nothing left but a tiny puddle of sauce, and he hiccupped and sighed with utter satisfaction. His tummy grumbled, having pushed itself out a little more again to accommodate the final mass of food. His hands rested on his rounded sides, sliding up to fondly pet the top of that tummy. He could feel where it swelled out from the ends of his ribcage, over-saturated with fullness. Whatever small anxiety had remerged was entirely gone, replaced by his overwhelming contentedness.

Patting around the bulgy dome revealed that it was quite firm, emitting soft light from between his finger-bones. There was still a tiny bit he could gently poke in, but his mass of stored magic was still very, very solid. Three whole big, overflowing bowls’ worth of pasta were tucked away inside there now, after all. It didn’t hurt, but there was a continuous, dull ache around it that almost accentuated the pleasant sensation.

“You are finished, yes?” Papyrus quietly stood, retrieving the dirty bowl and fork. “I do have another dish prepared, but…”

Sans’s fingertips lightly drummed over the tight, blue tummy membrane at its crest. Physically, he _could_ fit another bowl in here without getting sick, but it would be a potentially painful struggle. “Mmm…” A little appreciative pat… “…Yeah, I’m good. This is real, real good how it is now…”

“Alrighty!”

Sans rested while his brother cleaned up. To his relief, his socket-lids were actually starting to feel a bit droopy. The drowsiness of a very, very full belly was finally coming to him.

Almost as soon as they’d closed, Papyrus was tugging on his arm, trying to prompt him into moving. “Let’s move you to the couch before you fall asleep in this chair and end up falling out or something.”

“Y-Yeah…” Sans grumbled, but clamped tight around his brother’s radial, using it like a handle to pull himself up. He winced a bit when his belly succumbed to gravity and heavily pulled down on him. Some days, he worried it would tear apart from his ribcage…but it always held tight.

Papyrus offered his other arm, and Sans used it to take the first few steps. After, he sort of shuffled beside him, down the hallway to the parlor. Papyrus reached the sofa first, plonking himself down on one side…while the over-bloated Sans carefully shifted his body up onto the cushion beside him. His stomach gurgled at him, discontentedly, and he pressed a hand around its underside, holding it steady.

Papyrus cocked his skull, curiously. “It doesn’t hurt, does it?”

“Nah, nah… It aches, but it’s not a bad ache…er, if that makes any sense. It’s not exactly a stomachache, but it’s more of a stomach…hum? I dunno.”

“Come here.”

Sans gingerly moved himself towards his openly gesturing brother, still holding himself in place. It took some more shifting, but Papyrus eventually pulled Sans into his lap. Curse his small and huggable stature. To anyone else, sitting on Papyrus’s lap would have been pointy, hard, bony torture, but as another skeleton, Sans didn’t mind.

And then, oddly enough…Papyrus’s thin bone fingers began to caress over the soft, silky, ballooning ball of Sans’s tummy.

“Er, be careful,” Sans warned him. “Don’t press too hard or jiggle it around too much. You would really not like what happens next.”

“Not to worry—I am an expert at being gentle!” And the odd truth was that he really was.

“I am joyous,” Papyrus began to elaborate. “That this false tummy of yours brings you such happiness. I daresay it actually feels happy, too….. Well, it _should_ be happy with so much of my miraculous pasta inside of it!”

“ _Hic_! It certainly is.” Sans gripped the bottom-left of the bulge, feeling where it rounded over his lowered waistband. And then, it happened.

With one tender little fingertip…Papyrus began to scratch at the surface of the rubbery blue membrane…tickling lightly.

“Ihih,” Sans couldn’t help twitching into a chuckle. “Hihh.”

And so, Papyrus added a few more fingers…then, an entire hand.

The pseudo-skin of Sans’s stuffed little belly was highly sensitive to the touch—more so than usual—and sparks of twinging tickles shivered through him with each flutter of fingertips.

“Eheeheeheehee!” Sans burst into giggles. His genuine, bubbling laughter was infectious, and Papyrus found himself cackling along. “Aheh ahahahahh ahahahaha!!! C-Cut that out! Hih!” Sans squirmed, jostling himself and causing a dangerous inner sloshing.

“No! You shall never escape the deadly tickle trap!” Papyrus’s fingers extended down his tender little bulgy sides.

A weird, choking squeak came from the smaller skeleton, and he thrashed to the side, into Papyrus’s chest. “Aha…n-no seriously, Papyrus. Ssstop. Seriously, stop. I feel sick…”

“Ack! I’m sorry!” His hands jumped away as if the magic stomach was suddenly burning hot. “Sorry, sorry! Are you alright, Sans?!”

“F-Fine… _hrrp_! Ah, _hlp_!” Sans gave one last shudder and settled back against his ribs, taking deep, calculated breaths.

“I’m sorry!” Papyrus’s brows tensed. “Would the gentle slidy contact help at all?!”

“Mm…yeah, that would be great. It’s settling down now.” Sans carefully patted, for emphasis. “Eheh…ya got me laughin’, though.”

After a beat of hesitation, Papyrus curled his hands around Sans’s waist again, cupping the upset belly and giving it a very slow, exceedingly tender rub. A few more breaths…and Sans felt the churning substances slowing to their usual languid drifting inside him. Softly pressing and tugging at the cushy blue walls. The rubbing really was helping…and the feel of that achy over-fullness combined with the warm touch…it was so, so comfortable.

Sans’s eye-sockets slid shut, and a quiet thrumming emanated from him. Papyrus continued stroking and stroking, shifting his hands ever-so-slightly. Tiny circles, miniscule massages… So…secure. So heavy and so replete and so cared-for. The love and security of this moment filled Sans’s senses, blocking out any of his creeping doubts and fears. It was wonderful. And it would never end.

The two skeletons sat, nestled together…comforting, healing each other…awash in the peaceful blue glow of Sans’s round, expansive tummy—their only light in the sleeping darkness.

“I’m sorry…” Papyrus whispered…something which sounded truly odd, coming from him. “I tried to help again, and yet I just hurt you again…”

“You know, Pap…” With his eyes closed, it was easier to think, simpler to put into words. He could just black out the sights, listen only to his brother’s magical breathing, feel only the sliding of his fingers over him, the weight of his body supporting him. “I…often feel like the world is going to disappear… That I’ll wake up and everything will go back to the way it was before. Everyone will forget this place. Everyone will forget what we’ve been through, how we all came together. Some of us might disappear entirely. That being here means nothing, because it can all be taken away…gone, like it never existed.”

He could feel Papyrus tense just a small bit…yet Sans was still completely calm…assured of everything now.

“But…the one thing I know will never disappear…the one thing I can be sure will never change, no matter what happens…is that you’re there for me.” Taking his left hand, he rolled his palm over his brother’s wrist—reaffirming, trusting, securing. “No matter where or when…no matter what happens to everyone else…I can trust that you will always care for me. And I’ll always care for you.” The edges of Sans’s consciousness grew fuzzy, enfolded in this comfort and unwavering trust.

Papyrus was silent a long moment...but his body relaxed as well, finally coming to this realization. He melted into the peaceful security, and held his hands steadily curved in one spot. “…That’s right, brother. That’s right.”

And they lapsed into silent, warm serenity.

After several minutes of comfort, Papyrus realized he was starting to doze off, and shook himself. With a glance down, he noticed Sans breathing rhythmically, probably falling asleep as well. His arm-bones lifted, moving Sans’s arm along with them. “Psssst. I think it’s time we returned to bed.”

“Huh?” Sans cracked one black socket open a sliver. He really had been falling asleep. “Uh…” The thought of returning to his room now was disheartening. He’d just be confronted with that blankness, that emptiness, that dull, hollow atmosphere, inhabited only by trash and dirty laundry. He didn’t want to leave…he really, really didn’t want to leave. “Uhhhhh… Can I sleep with you tonight?”

It took only a second for Papyrus to decide. “…Of course.”

“Agh— _hp_!” Sans felt his body being tugged upwards. His brother’s hands clenched tightly under his arms, lifting him upwards. Fairly easily, Papyrus extended up onto his feet, bringing Sans with him. Promptly, he swept one arm behind Sans’s legs, pulling them up and curling him into a bridal-style position…much more comfortable for carrying.

“Heh, wow…” Sans chuckled to himself, even as Papyrus began to plod off in the direction of his room, and he steadied his stomach from the movements. “I’m surprised you can still carry me after all that.”

“Of course I can!!” Papyrus cried, almost at full force, which made Sans’s teeth clench. “My muscles are extremely strong!”

Automatically, Sans thought of several jokes he could make regarding weight and muscles and biceps and being buff…but he was oddly too tired to even put in the effort of annoying him.

By the time they reached Papyrus’s bedroom, he was barely conscious. But he didn’t have to see—just the vague blurry shapes that appeared were enough to give him the sense of this room…this neat little room, brimming with personality. Papyrus slipped himself down onto his red racecar bed—still his favorite bed, even though he could enjoy the real thing now—and very carefully placed Sans against the opposite side.

“…ACK! Wait!” Papyrus practically leaped over him and out of bed when he noticed, panic pulsing at his temples. “You can’t sleep on MY bed in THAT! Change that filthy shirt this instant!!”

“…Too late,” Sans mumbled, turning and squishing his face into the mattress.

“AAAAAUGH! SANS!”

Sans barely felt as his brother frantically yanked his shirt off and then tried to force him into something else. It was one of _his_ old shirts, he realized, when his arms ended at the sleeves’ elbows, and it wouldn’t pull down over his big belly at all, and just stayed bunched right below his upper ribs. Yet even in this horribly-fitting shirt, he was incredibly comfortable, and quietly sighed, embracing the peacefulness.

The mattress dipped a little when Papyrus maneuvered himself back into bed, close beside him. And for the first time in very long while…Sans felt that he had absolutely nothing to fear.

A little shuffling across the bed…and a smooth, comfy surface was pressing itself softly to his cheekbone…rubbing. Cheek nuzzles. Another little typical gesture of skeleton affection.

So Sans nuzzled right back…and his whole being finally, finally fell into a fitful, deep, pleasant, and well-deserved rest. His beloved brother right there beside him.


	2. A

ENDING A

 

Bright, shimmering, natural sunlight beamed through the slats in the room’s one window, reflecting off the many plastic figures of fighters and robots in splotches of glow.

“WHOO-EE, GOOD MORNING!!”

The racecar bed bounced and squeaked and shook as its largest occupant sprang from its confines, expertly rolling over his brother. “IT’S A BRAND NEW DAY! A WONDERFUL NEW DAY! I WONDER WHAT MARVELOUS SECRETS IT SHALL HOLD!”

“Uhhhhhh…” Sans stuffed his skull into a pillow, uselessly trying to block out the booming racket. His senses were gradually fading back in, his faculties slowly restarting. Where…?

“SANS, GET YOUR SNOOZING BONES OUT OF MY BED!”

“Nnnnn…”

“SIGH. HOW MANT ATTEMPTS IS IT GOING TO TAKE TODAY?”

“My” bed…? Yes…yes, this bed was much, much more comfortable than his own. It smelled different, too…like fresh, airy linen. Something was pinching his upper ribs. His hands were lost in a sea of fabric.

The pieces began to snap together in Sans’s gradually awakening mind. Where he was…how he’d ended up here…everything that had led up to this.

One languid hand reached down, feeling at his round little tummy. It was…a bit less bloated than it had been before, but still quite curved and popped-out. Still feeling contentedly full, but not aching.

The realization finally sank into his brain…he finally allowed himself to acknowledge it, to believe in it. _I’m still here._ It was tomorrow. Tomorrow on the Surface.

Sans’s eye-sockets securely closed again. Warm ripples of relief washed over his heart. Oh, this wonderful feeling… He remembered. He remembered everything. The thumping, bumping, scuffling sounds of Papyrus getting ready created a lively ambiance.

“Mm.” At last, Sans pushed himself up, dragging his body into a sitting position at the edge of the car-shaped bed, squinting in the insistent sun and rubbing at the edges of his sockets with the floppy sleeves of the red shirt.

“SANS!” Papyrus jangled into view, already clad in his “battle body”, jagged cape fluttering behind him. “ARE YOU WELL?”

“Yyyyup. Very well.” Sans rocked slightly, sleepily nodding his skull and smiling with his squinted eyes.

With a gentle tap, Papyrus nudged the tip of his glove to the crest of his exposed little magical blue bulge. “YOU’VE STILL GOT A SURPLUS OF PASTA MAGIC.”

“Mm. ‘Sgonna take a while before it gets back to normal. ‘Sreally good energy, Pap.”

“I DID A GOOD JOB.” Papyrus whirled around, planting his fists on his hips. “I TAKE IT YOU SLEPT WELL!”

“Like a pet rock.”

“I’M GLAD!”

Sans slapped one long sleeve around his middle while Papyrus flipped through a folder, curiously.

“IT SEEMS WE’LL BE OUT UNTIL JUST AFTER IT GETS DARK TODAY. SO YOU’LL KNOW WHEN TO EXPECT US! I REQUESTED THE SUN’S PRESENCE FOR OUR EXPEDITION THROUGH THE FOREST. IT SHOULD BE QUITE INTRIGUING!”

Sans dangled his bare foot-bones, cradling his tummy and mulling it over. Normally, Papyrus went out with Frisk and sometimes Undyne, experiencing the human world until sunset, while he stayed at home. Sans hardly ever left the house—he usually just spent the day helping Toriel and Asgore attend to Frisk’s behind-the-scenes ambassador duties, maybe hanging out and joking with Toriel, and watching TV whenever Alphys wasn’t hogging it with anime. That was all he usually cared to do…all he usually had the energy, the motivation for. But right now…recalling his brother’s caring presence, the reassurance of being near his forever steadfast friend…the energy of the lovingly-cooked pasta bubbling within him.

He stretched his sockets open, adjusting to the brilliant light of the new day. “Hey, actually…I think I’ll join yas today. ‘F ya don’t mind, of course.”

“…REALLY?” Papyrus turned a huge, long, beaming grin towards him, immediately overexcited. “WOWIE! REALLY, TRULY?”

“Yup.” Sans gave him a cheery wink.

“WELL, WELL, WELL, GET MOVING!” In great, flourishing movements, Papyrus swept him off the bed, placed him down on the plush carpet near the door, and literally threw his slippers at him. “WE’RE SET TO DEPART IN FIFTEEN MINUTES! GO ON, GO ON, GET DRESSED, GET YOURSELF READY!”

“Heh. Someone’s sure in a rush……a Papyrush.”

“SANS! DO NOT FORCE ME TO ROLL YOU DOWN THE HALL!”

“’Kay, I’m goin’, I’m goin’…” The small, bloated skeleton finally slipped out the door, contentedly chuckling to himself.

“AND DON’T FORGET TO BRUSH YOUR TEETH!” Papyrus called after. Classic Pap.

Though he slowly lumbered down to his room, Sans was bursting with potential energy. On the inside, he was just as ecstatic as his brother, bouncing off the walls of his own heart. Papyrus was here for him, overjoyed at having his company today. The thrilling future was still ahead. Frisk, Toriel…everyone he cared for was safe and sound.

It was _here_. It was _now_. And he was going to have an incredible time.


	3. B

ENDING B

 

Familiar pressure securely pushed against his chest. Softness…and darkness. The steady, persistent, nerve-calming gust bouncing off the wall on the left. All the same. All comfortingly the same as ever.

Very slowly, Sans opened heavy eye-sockets, each sense fading back into use. His mind was still fuzzy, tinged with something he couldn’t yet recognize. But it only took another moment before he could at least recognize where he was.

This was his room. This was definitely his room. The pressure against his chest was his wadded-up ball of green sheets, which his arm was carelessly slung over. Typical. Yet…something was off about this. Something… Like…why was he back in his room?

As his consciousness awoke, he had the distinct sense that…he hadn’t been here when he’d last fallen asleep. He couldn’t remember _where_ , but…not here. Oh no.

A cold, creeping sensation began to grow, crawling its tendrils through his ribs. It wasn’t…? It couldn’t be, right? He’d just forgotten, right? He’d just been too sleepy, right?

Quicker than he usually ever would, Sans pulled himself out of bed, stumbled through the oppressive darkness, jammed his feet into slippers, slid his arms into his jacket, and twisted his door open. His widened eyes were met with a very familiar sight—a _very_ familiar sight. And in that instant, he knew it had happened again.

Before him stretched the interior of the cabin he shared with Papyrus. The squiggly rug, the bone portrait, his brother’s door covered in stickers and tape, the faint odor of old tomato sauce, the stairway leading down to the parlor…everything was in place. And Sans had the immediate, overpowering sense that he hadn’t been here yesterday. That meant…

His entire being froze in that spot, one hand propped on the door-casing, fuzzy slippers positioned right at the threshold. They’d been _there_. He’d been on the Surface with…friends. Surrounded by friends. The human had cared for him. The sunlight, the hope, the infinite expanse, the happiness and love… It was gone. Again. Again, it was gone. Everything. Everything they’d worked toward.

Desperately, Sans tried to recall the last thing he’d done. Something with Papyrus…but the rest was unclear. One arm subconsciously pressed into the side of his squishy midsection, his stomach feeling strangely empty. What was the last thing he’d eaten…? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t recall anything he’d done yesterday. He couldn’t conjure up his friends’ faces. His brain began to blank out, disappointment and frustration and sorrow overtaking him once again. And just then…

“SAAAAAAANS!” A very familiar voice boomed out. “JUST LOOK AT THE TIME!!!”

Sans could only stare, cold and empty inside, even with the great clatter and pounding his brother was making downstairs. The same. Just the same as always.

“DID YOU REALLY JUST WAKE UP? YOUR NAPPING HABITS ARE SURELY TROUBLING.” Papyrus strode up the stairs, stomping confidently in his red boots. His costume was in place, as it always had been, his armored chest angrily puffed. “I’VE ALREADY BEEN UP AND DOWN THE AREA FIVE TIMES! YOU NEED TO BE AT YOUR STATION!!! WHAT IF A HUMAN PASSED BY THERE?! WHAT IF?! AND YOU WEREN’T EVEN THERE TO SEE THEM! I’LL HAVE MISSED MY ONE AND ONLY OPPORTUNITY FOR GLORY! AND YOUR PUZZLES HAVEN’T EVEN BEEN TESTED YET! THAT STILL NEEDS TO BE DONE! SANS, ARE YOU LISTENING?!”

Sans’s small, white, glowing eye-dots slowly shifted…carefully taking in the sight of his brother. Something…some vague memory was beginning to take form in his head. Something he’d only just realized. Something very important. Papyrus.

The tall skeleton paused, questioningly cocking his oval sockets. “SANS, IS EVERYTHING--”

In two decisive strides, Sans stomped forward, straight to his brother’s side…and flung his arms around his body, gripping tight to the back of his vertebrae, pressing himself firmly, longingly. Papyrus. The one thing that would never disappear. The one thing that wouldn’t leave him. The one friend he would always remember, and who would always remember him. The love that would never twist or break. The immovable constant in this perpetually shifting, looping, wavering universe. His invincible pillar of strength and support.

Sans barely kept his rising tears in check. All he remembered about yesterday…was that his brother had demonstrated just how much he cared about him…and that he’d come to realize all of this. As painful as it was, as horrible as it was, he didn’t need to panic, he didn’t need to be afraid. Papyrus was still here. The same Papyrus who loved him.

The tall brother wistfully smiled and bent down, shifting Sans’s arms to his back. His own long arms wrapped over Sans’s smaller torso, patting against his upper spine with one soft glove. The side of Sans’s skull tapped into Papyrus’s pointy jawbone, and they slightly nuzzled in that spot.

“WELL. THIS IS UNEXPECTED. BUT NOT UNWELCOME.” Papyrus spoke up again, though he remained in place. “WHAT’S THE MATTER, SANS? DID YOU HAVE AN UNPLEASANT NIGHTTIME VISION?”

“Nah.” Sans’s voice sounded feeble, unwilling to accept his fate…but it was building up its confidence. “I’m just…glad you’re here, bro. I’m real glad to have you around.”

Flattered blushing spots appeared on Papyrus’s narrow face. “WHY, OF COURSE! THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS ALWAYS HERE FOR YOU! NYEH HEH! YOU ARE MY BROTHER, AFTER ALL!”

“Yeah…” Sans relaxed, feeling the warmth and sincerity between them. Everything would still be alright…

“BUT DON’T THINK YOU CAN GET OUT OF SENTRY DUTY JUST BY DISPENSING THE HUGS!”

“Awww, man…” He pretended to be disappointed, though he clung around Papyrus’s shoulders, chuckling. “You saw right through my strategy, eh?”

With as much ease as if he were lifting an empty box, Papyrus grabbed Sans and lifted him up, up onto his shoulders. “COME! WE MUST AWAY, TO THE EDGE OF SNOWDIN FOREST!”

Curling close around his skull, Sans laughed and held on tight. “Noooo, I’ve been captured!”

“INDEED YOU HAVE!”

As they tromped down the stairs and out into the dusky, snowy underground, Sans’s heart settled. He would always have that emptiness inside, that terror and sorrow and apprehension…but like this…he’d be able to cope. Like this, he was able to go on, and that was all he could really ask for. Papyrus helped him to carry on, no matter what happened, no matter how many resets he had to live through. And hey…maybe they’d meet another kind-hearted Frisk this time, too.

But right now, Sans could at least rest assured that, whatever was in store for them in this coming timeline, his brother would be right there supporting him.

Facing the pain and uncertainties of time, hand in hand, with smiles and solidarity… That’s just what brothers do, right?

**Author's Note:**

> To CONTINUE, push A
> 
> To RESET, push B


End file.
